Nothing To Sneeze At
by KajiteGray
Summary: Cheslock finds a new distraction in his field of vision when Violet requests a private performance. How many ways can one sultry Prefect devise for throwing off his Fag's timing? Warning - plenty of Violinist puns and innuendos. Suggestive language/ mild romance/ humor
1. Chapter 1

"Where **did** you get that ridiculous hair?"

The musician frowned, pausing with raised bow. It was certainly not the first time he had been asked this question. It was, however, the first time it had been posed to him in the middle of an Aria. He flicked a glance of irritation at the fellow who had displayed the nerve to interrupt him.

"Impression," he murmured through set teeth.

"What?" His single audience member had amusement in his voice.

"Mum was frightened by a rooster before I was born."

A lyrical laugh answered him, followed by a delicate sneeze. For some reason Gregory Violet always sneezed when he laughed. It was a strange, if moistly endearing habit. The violinist waited for him to blow his nose.

"Are you quite finished? I'd like to finish this thing before lunch."

Gregory waved a delicate hand, a small smile dancing on his painted lips.  
Cheslock shook his crested head and resumed playing. His performance was nothing to sneeze at.

Careful to hide his mirth behind a silk handkerchief, the Prefect listened politely. The contrast between the sweet, refined melody and the wild white crest perched on his musician's head was funny beyond words. The ludicrous clash of white bobbed slightly as its owner kept time to the solemn love song. The whole thing threatened to send Violet into giggles again. He bit his lip to keep control of himself. The music was truly lovely, Cheslock's fingers masterful and confident as they slid across the strings. The sound was perfection. But that **hair...**

Perhaps if he closed his eyes...

Cheslock glimpsed his Prefect sitting there, eyes closed, apparently enraptured by his performance. The soft curve of lash was a trifle distracting, but better than being laughed at. Good. Being interrupted was more than a distraction - it was rude. Not that Violet seemed to worry about such formalities. At least he was being quiet. His hood had drifted back from his face, showing the full mane of black hair softly framing his face. The bright tuft of white at his temple gave Cheslock more thoughts on Impression. Perhaps some rude bird had flown overhead while he was in utero and... He smirked and almost missed his key change.

One of Violet's pretty gold eyes drifted open and sparkled beneath his bangs, as if he had half-heard his underclassman's disrespectful musings. Once again, Cheslock nearly forgot his fingering. That singular gold eye threatened to swallow him whole. His only defense was to shut his own eyes and concentrate on the music. Sometimes it was easier to play without such visual distractions.

Violet smiled serenely and folded his long white hands primly in his lap. Twice he had almost succeeded in unseating those steady fingers. Perhaps a third time would be the charm. Chester did not give him the opportunity however, keeping his eyes stubbornly shut and playing flawlessly through the piece. He was consumed by the music, devoting his every fiber to the performance. Not one mistake, not a single waiver or false note. Violet grinned openly, both enjoying the music and secretly plotting to upset the apple cart. Perhaps less subtle tactics would be called for. Violet ran his tongue slowly over his lower lip. He'd get him next time.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: It's 6 degrees outside and there's a cat on my shoulder. He's a good friend but a lousy editor. Please forgive the roughness of this chapter as it is a work-in-progress. For these fanfics, I'm having to guess at some characters' first names as they do not appear in the manga. I thought Chester would be a fun first name for a rowdy guy like Cheslock.

Chester Cheslock was in a fat hurry, trying to make good time against a tide of first-formers surging through the halls in the quest for lunch. Jostled on all sides with seldom an apology, he tucked his violin case in close to his body to protect the delicate instrument. Re-tuning in this weather was a bitch. He growled at a boy who trod on his foot. Where the Hell had all these small fry come from so suddenly? It was like trying to swim upstream.

"To Hell with this mess," he muttered. Giving up on the chaotic hallway, he dodged out a side door and cut across the forbidden lawns to reach his destination. Only the four Prefects and those with prior permission were permitted to set foot on the precious greenery. Well, they could just yell at him. He was, after all, on a sort of mission for his Senior. Being Fag to a Prefect did have its perks.

Violet.

As pretty and endearing as he was, Cheslock was beginning to suspect that his upper classman was secretly plotting to do him in. Or wear him to a shred. Or at least drive him to distraction. Perhaps all three. In the past two weeks, Gregory Violet had requested a private performance no less than nine times. Nearly everyday he had spent an hour or more bending his bow for the beautifully moody Prefect. As his Fag, he was expected to jump to action whenever Violet snapped his fingers, and jump he did. The demands on his schedule were taxing. It seemed now that everywhere he turned, there was Violet with tilted head and a mischevious gleam in his pretty gold eyes. He would offer a rougish little smile from black-painted lips and purr his request from behind the lush thicket of dark hair that always fell over his eyes. He never had to ask more than once. In the face of such weaponry, Cheslock was helpless. He could not say 'no' to Violet, and Violet knew it. So here he was again, racing to put on yet another private show. Fag time was one thing, but this was bordering on ridiculous. He felt like a music box that was being would a bit too tightly and a trifle too often.

He rounded the corner of a rose garden a trifle short, beheading a few blooms with the edge of his flapping cloak. He made it to the Swan Gazebo with moments to spare and skidded to a stop on the white gravel path. The Prefects gathered there turned a little to look at him, all grace and perfect hair and good grooming. And here he was in disarray with his hair in his face and his uniform wrinkled. Cheslock was caught off guard. He had expected Violet to be alone. He was oddly disappointed, but knew that playing for this distinguished group was a high honor indeed. He passed a hand over his ruffled crest. If he had known he was performing for the whole group, he would have dressed better.

"This one?" murmured Redmond, eyeing the disheveled musician. His eyes narrowed as if he were assessing the cost of his clothing. His expression wavered between bemusement and disdain. The boy standing below them in the rumpled uniform was a known troublemaker and had a notoriously explosive temper. Surely, Violet could not be serious.

"Yes, "This One"," said Violet, with a note of impatience. "I did tell you we were having a violinist today." He rose and strode to the edge of the Gazebo like a graceful shadow. Cheslock did not notice him deliver a sharp kick to Redmond's ankle as he walked by.

"Ouch! You brat - What was that for?" hissed Edgar softly, maintaining his composure nonetheless.

"Be nice to my fag," warned Violet in a threatening whisper. "Or next time I'll kick you higher up." In a louder voice he announced him.

"When I said I was bringing in a violinist today, I assumed you would know who was the best one here. And I would invite only the best." He motioned to his fag to enter the gazebo.  
"May I present our school's finest musician - Mr. Cheslock. The boy with the magical fingers."

Cheslock both glowed under the praise and cringed inwardly at that last part. It was an embarrassing nickname, but accurate. There was no instrument he could not play. The violin was his first love. He was proud to share it, even though he knew some of the upperclassmen looked down on him for having both a poor man's background and a reputation as a troublemaker. With a small bow, he made his entrance to the gazebo, with as much poise and grace as he could muster. When he started playing, that smartass rich boy wouldn't be smirking anymore. Violet held back his laughter, catching both the sour expression on Redmond's face and Cheslock's offended dignity. Rocking the boat was fun. He knew his appointment of Cheslock as his fag rankled Redmond to no end. Bloodlines and a pretty face meant more to Redmond than actual talent, but Violet know what he wanted, and what he wanted was this rowdy former East-ender with the magical fingers. Studded ears, Mohawk, foul mouth and all, Violet wanted Him.

He nodded to his Fag and made the proper introductions. Bluewer and Greenhill politely nodded and withheld comment on their guest's rather rumpled appearance. Cheslock gave a bow of genuine respect to the school's Cricket champion and also to the Best Brain on campus. He appreciated the talents of both. Also in attendance were the other three Fags, whose expressions ranged from surprise to intrigue to arrogance. Edward appeared startled to see someone as rough as Cheslock entering the gazebo. His body swayed as he managed to prevent himself from taking a step back. He had never seen hair like that before up close. Clayton did edge a little closer to Bluewer, pushing his glasses a touch higher on his nose, in a gesture identical to his Prefect's. Cheslock tried not to stare. With black hair plastered helmet-like to his head and his ridiculous sideburns, crisp suit and thick glasses, he looked and moved like an automaton. He was precise to the point of looking unreal. His expression, while not unfriendly, was nevertheless severe. Cheslock wondered if he ever smiled, and if his face would crack if he did. Clayton was studying him silently with piercing gray eyes. Cheslock realized he was staring back, and quickly flicked his gaze to Redmond and his fag Cole.

Maurice Cole was girlishly pretty with golden ringlets, long lashes and a slight frame. His good looks were marred by the expression of unveiled contempt he flung his way. He stuck to Redmond like a cloying shadow and twittered and gushed over everything his Prefect did. Yuck. Cheslock managed not to make a face. Cole was just the sort of boy he would have ground into the dirt in earlier years if he'd given him a look like that. The musician rolled his gaze leftwards to Violet and raised the brow just on that side as if to say "Really?" Violet gave a barely perceptible shrug of apology. He moved his lips very slightly to mouth the reason Cheslock should not pound the smirking little blonde into pudding. "He's Redmond's Pet." His eyes held an expression of loathing. Apparently not all Prefects approved of each other's choice of Fag, and Cheslock felt better. If Violet approved of him, that was good enough.

"What will you be playing for us today, Mr. Cheslock?" asked Bluewer in a detached sort of way. Even as he spoke to him, the Blue House Prefect was still reading his book. He read while he was walking about campus too, never seeming to look up from his studies. Cheslock wasn't sure whether to admire this trait or be slightly offended by his divided attention. He withdrew the violin from it's case, thankful he had brought Claudia with him - she was his best-looking instrument. He had four that he played regularly, all of them named after girls.

"I'll play whatever you like." He tuned up and rosined his bow. He looked around. "Please feel free to request your favorites."

"Where does he think he's playing - in an ale house?" whispered Cole a trifle loudly to Redmond. Edgar stifled a chuckle and quickly corrected himself. He squeezed Cole's knee. "Behave yourself, Cole. Violet wouldn't have him here if he wasn't talented." He might personally disapprove of the rowdy boy, but Cheslock's reputation as a concert violinist was well known.

Cheslock caught a portion of the whispered exchange and his neck grew red. He threw a look to Violet, who shrugged again. This was typical Cole behaviour. Cheslock left his cloak on a chair - no sense in catching the bow on those ridiculous sleeves. He played for each one in turn, performing with grace and vigor. His performance was impressive and flawless, but the experience was the emotional equivalent of being bonked over the head and rolled down a hill in a barrel. Playing to requests had proven to be both a masterstroke and a terrible mistake.

Edward and Clayton both chose traditional pieces, both with an appreciation for Bach, Cheslock played two of his favorites to perfection and was favored with polite applause and a crack-free smile from Clayton. GreenHill was a Vivaldi fan; Bluewer liked Mussorgsky, the darker, the better. Violet asked for Claire de Loon. Again. Cheslock made his way through it, despite the Prefect's open flirting. Violet seemed to delight in quietly tormenting him while he was playing. Cheslock refrained from sticking out his tongue. He recognized this as playfulness, and was able to ignore most of the good-natured teasing. Hardest to ignore were Violet's eyes and his constant seeming need to lick his lips. Cheslock needn't have worried about Violet, however. His stumbling block turned out to be Cole.

The boy stood up and made his request loudly, with a sneer on his lips and an impatient childish pitch to his voice. The request was for a song so simple and juvenile that any first-year player would have been flunked out of class if they had failed to play it accurately. This was a slap in the face. Everyone knew it, and all eyes turned to see what the boy with the Magical Fingers and Terrible Temper would do. Cheslock's face burned, body tightening from the effort it took not to reduce Maurice Cole to a greasy blot.

"Beg pardon, Mr. Cole," His voice was flat and icy. "I believe I have misheard your request. Pray, repeat it for me."

"Twinkle, Twinkle." The childish voice knifed through the air. Bluewer put down his book and stared at Cole with open disapproval. A low rumble was heard from the chest of GreenHill. Maurice Cole smiled with a syrupy sweet gaze and pressed on. Cheslock was rigid with fury.

"Twinkle, Twinkle. I want to hear it." A muscle jumped in Cheslock's cheek. To demand such a song was a vile insult. "Don't you know it?"

Cheslock gripped the violin and swung it sharply under his chin. His bow snapped to position, his spine ramrod straight. His expression was eerily calm.

"Of course, Mr. Cole. As you wish." With remarkable dignity, he played 'Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star', just as a first-year student might do it. Violet cringed to see someone with Cheslock's talent reduced to such a demeaning task. That damned Cole... as soon as he had cover of darkness, he was going to drown the little shit in the lake. Maurice was sniggering openly, despite some furious elbowing from Redmond. Cheslock played it straight and simple, all 45 seconds of the moronic little diddy. Then he played again, this time in the style of Brahms. Then Mendelsson. Then Bach. Then Mozart and Beethoven. Over and over he attacked the piece, in a dozen composers' styles, each one more complex and beautiful than the next, until the simple, childish song was all but unrecognizable and had become an intricate, masterpiece. For nearly quarter-hour he played, until he ran out of composers and Cole ran out of patience and stormed from the Gazebo. Cheslock was left red-faced and triumphant, bowing low to the loud applause from the others. Greenhill whistled, to the disapproval of Bluewer. Clayton, of all people, was laughing so hard he was crying. It took several severe looks from Bluewer and two glasses of water to compose himself.

"Good on you, Mr, Cheslock, good on you!" he had a dazzling smile after all, with no signs of breakage. He dabbed at his streaming eyes,which looked remarkably beautiful in the moments he had his glasses off. Cheslock took another little bow.

"Thankyou. Who knew this would be so much fun?" He had a wicked gleam in his eye. "So - who wants to hear 'Pop Goes the Weasel'?" Clayton lost his composure again and had to excuse himself. Violet dissolved into peals of musical laughter, and it was sometime before peace returned to the Swan gazebo. Edward, the only fag still standing, fetched some cold tea and cakes, giving them an opportunity to compose themselves properly. Redmond had cast a single glance after Cole before deciding he wasn't worth chasing after. He favored Cheslock with a genuine look of apology and an appreciative smile.

"Excellent comeuppance, Mr. Cheslock. He had it coming." Cheslock looked up from his drink, a trifle startled. He had just been commended for being a complete smartass.

"I just couldn't help myself."

Bluewer, mindful of etiquette, had to ask.

"Aren't you going after him, Redmond?" The blonde Prefect shook his head and accepted a glass of tea from Edward.

"He was being a brat. Let him pout." He raised his glass elegantly. "Let us toast to Violet's excellent taste in music, and his fine judgement of character." He winked. "I was afraid we'd have to scrub Maurice off the Gazebo floor."

"That," murmured Cheslock with a sly grin, "Would have been easier but messier. Not to mention, Bad Form."

Redmond grinned. Glasses clinked. He touched his to Cheslock's last.

"Welcome to the party, kid. Better hold on tight."

author's note: Modifications are likely after I look up the dates on some of these composers and pieces. I might have placed a few gentlemen before their time!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 A very rough version of a very juicy chapter

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter is, at the moment, a work-in-progress. I usually don't post chapters in-progress because of the profound number of grammatical and spelling errors they tend to have. I'm responding to some fan requests for "More! As soon as possible!" (= I appreciate the enthusiasm, and apologize for posting some untidy work. This chapter is under construction. My intent is to toss this version up for a couple of weeks for review, then rewrite it into a more civilized and longer version. This is just the opening bit for the chapter, which promises to be very juicy.

NOTE part 2: I tidied this up some. The final version will be much longer, and will require a bit more time to pull together.

Please enjoy, and do bear with my many misspellings and wandering tense. It shows some of the mental meanderings that take place prior to the final rewrite.

Fair warning: This is the very juiciest of my chapters. Do read with caution. Not to be taken seriously or internally or by most minors. Some shonen-ai content.

Setting: Swan Gazebo, early morning

The sun had beaten down with a vengeance on the campus of Weston College for weeks. It showed no mercy, baking underclassmen, prefects and professors alike. One of very few places blessed with a cooling breeze was the elegant Swan Gazebo. In the very early morning it was a momentary refuge from the ongoing heatwave. By lunchtime, it would be unbearable. Only Prefects and their fags were permitted, and at present, the gazebo held only two occupants. Redmond and Violet were sprawled in ungentlemanly poses, still somehow looking elegant in their disarray.  
"Blast this retched weather!" muttered Redmond, pushing his damp hair from his brow. "I'm already beginning to sweat, just from walking here." He frowned at his companion. "Aren't you roasting in that thing?"

Violet lounged in the big wicker chair, enjoying the cool of the morning. The weather had been wretchedly hot, and an early-morning visit to the Gazebo offered one of the few opportunities to escape the heat. He played with a cup of lukewarm tea, watching bits of leaf floating on its amber surface.

"Violet!" hissed Redmond, prodding him with his toe.

"Nnnnn?" the black-haired young man showed a slight sign of life, stroking the edge of his purple-lined hood. He wore it constantly, regardless of the weather. In the foggy early morning, it felt very comfortable. He liked to hide under that hood and pretend the world didn't exist. The pale-haired Prefect sitting nearby would not be ignored, however.

"Ahem" Violet's eyes flicked upwards momentarily. The only other occupant of the gazebo sat across from him, tapping a foot with elegant impatience. Violet watched the foot, keeping his eyes low and trying not to smile. He tried to ignore the silent demand for attention. Redmond was not amused.

"Violet." His voice was stern.

The sallow-looking Prefect flicked the lock of white hair out of his eyes and glanced upwards.

"Mmmmm?"

"Don't play dumb." Redmond planted his hands on his slender hips. "You skipped out on paying me last night." Violet did smile then, spoiling his efforts to look innocent. He favored his fellow Prefect with a sultry gaze.

"Why, Redmond... whatever do you mean?" The graceful blonde stood up and stalked over to where Violet sat, an endearing pout on his lips. His green eyes flashed.

"That cheeky boy didn't drop his bow - "

"Not that I didn't TRY," murmured Violet silkily.

"Nevertheless, you owe me a forfeit," announced Redmond, standing over him. Violet's gold eyes flashed.

"Really? Now? You seem impatient for it..."

Redmond folded his arms, his crimson cloak hanging from one slender hand.

"Pay up."

Violet bared his teeth.

"Make me."

Redmond pounced, in a blur of pale gold and red, engulfing Violet in his cloak like a penny dreadful vampire. He caught Violet's face in his hands and claimed his forfeit in the form of a passionate kiss. Violet offered no resistance, moving his mouth eagerly against Redmond's and sliding his hands down to grip his firm backside. They kissed for a long minute, performing oral acrobatics that would have gotten them both expelled had anyone seen them. Violet squeezed him firmly and gave as good as he got. He never bet anything he wasn't willing to lose. At last giving in the need to breathe, they broke the kiss and settled into the settee with a mutual sigh of pleasure. Violet licked his lips and nestled comfortably against Redmond's chest. Limbs entangled, they all but purred.

"I say... that was a debt well-payed!" Redmond, somewhat flushed, dropped a kiss on Violet's forehead. He stroked the very pretty jaw and drew a finger over the black painted lips.  
Violet nipped at his fingers, but Edgar was too fast. He caught Violet under the chin and stole another kiss.

"You can call that a down payment for the next time you owe me."

Violet frowned at him a little, squirming to look up at him. "You think I can't do it." Redmond smiled.

"Why don't you dump him? You can do better."

Violet sat up, gliding his fingers through his black mane to tame it.

" I don't want 'better'. I want HIM."

"Why?"

Violet's eyes were half-closed. "He's a bad boy."

"That's it, then?"

"No... he's also very skilled... he's clever as hell, he's quick, he's got a backbone and he's bold as brass.." Violet thought some more. "And he's very, very cute!"

Redmond arched his brows. "With that hair?!" Violet licked his lips naughtily.

"You're looking in the wrong spot. Have you seen his ass?"

"Goodness no, have you?"

"Not in the raw, yet..." Violet raised his glass and drained it. "But I watch it all the time through his pants."

Redmond shook his head. "You are an incurable lecher." He leaned his chin on his hand, watching Violet licking the leaves off the rim of his cup. "Tell me, then... are things getting interesting between the two of you?"

"They are interesting enough," murmured Violet, inspecting his empty cup.

"Ohhh? And how are you and your little friend making out?" Violet pouted slightly.

"Well... we aren't. Not yet at least... Making out, that is." Redmond clucked his tongue.

"Tsk, tsk, dear Violet... Are you losing your touch?"

"Don't be a pill, Edgar Dear. I am merely being subtle, that's all." Redmond plucked the cup from his hand.

"So subtle that he didn't notice it." Violet stood and shook his clothing back into place, running his hands over his body in such a way that Edgar almost dropped his cup. The golden eyes sparkled hungrily.

"Oh, he noticed alright. I made sure of THAT." He meaninlfully slid the tip of one painted finger into his mouth. Redmond had to swallow hard.

"STILL - you seemed to be going awfully light on him yesterday."

"Do tell." Violet bent over to adjust his cuffs, providing a tempting view. He smirked at Redmond's expression. "Well, I plan to step up my game." He straightened and adjusted his hair again. "Did you bring me what I asked for?"  
Redmond found his breath again, and retrieved a small basket from beneath his chair.

"Is this what you're looking for?" The basket was covered with a red silk scarf. Violet lifted it and peered into the basket. The black lips curved upwards.

"Oh, yes... I believe these will do nicely! Well done." He slid past Redmond, delivering a warm nibble to the side of his neck as payment. Redmond rubbed the spot, thoughtfully.

"Well, if that doesn't work, I have several other helpful suggestions."

"I'm sure you do," purred Violet. He flourished the basket. "One dropped bow, coming up!"

Redmond pointed a slender finger at him.

"If he doesn't drop it this time, you owe me double."  
Violet glided in very close, pulling his hood up slowly.

"I'm a betting man. Let's make it pay triple."  
Redmond's slender white hand shot out to grasp Violet's in a gentleman's agreement.

"I'll take that wager." Violet sealed the deal with a flirt of his hips and a slow lick of the lips.

"It's a bet." He turned and sauntered off, basket in hand. Redmond watched him go.

"Oh - and Violet?"  
The hooded figure stopped, listening.

" Make him squirm"  
Soft laughter answered him.

"I intend to!"

More coming in late February ~ See if Violet can make Chessie drop his bow!

NOTE 3: And here is just a little more... While it is still February!

Cheslock sprinted across the lawn, taking a forbidden shortcut. Taking a sharp turn, he dodged into the west wing of the music conservatory. Conductor Colvin had just missed seeing him. That would surely have meant seriously delay as the red-faced conductor bent his ear about the upcoming concert. Being a soloist, Cheslock was often having his ear bent by the music master about one thing or another. Avoiding detection, he sprinted up to the third floor. He cursed the late summer heat that matted his hair and stuck his clothes to his body. Breathing hard, he found himself in the long hall leading to the little-used practice room. It was shady here, though no less stifling than the rest of the school. Cheslock mopped his streaming brow with a much-used handkerchief. He ran a hand over his ruffled white crest and straightened his crooked tie. For a moment, he rested his hand on the cool brass doorknob, wondering what fresh distractions Violet had in store for him. He licked his lips and turned the knob.

"You are very nearly late, you know." The dark, liquid voice scolded him gently from the depths of a nearby shadow. Cheslock nearly dropped from fright.

"Jesus in a Jam Jar, Violet!" he croaked huskily. "Give me a heart attack!"

A little, black smile curved upwards in his Prefect's perfect white face. A glint of gold glittered at him mirthfully from under the ever-present hood. Violet, a little quieter than a shadow, detached himself from the gloom and drifted forward. His swirling black robes reminded him of smoke. Violet cocked his head slightly at his flustered Fag.

"Would you open the door for me? I have my hands full."

Cheslock looked down. So he did. Violet carried a gold-trimmed china plate covered in a crimson napkin. He held a goblet of something that Cheslock suspected was a little stronger than ordinary grape juice in the other. He drifted soundlessly into the room as the door was opened for him. Cheslock followed, watching as Violet set his plate down on a small table by the curtained windows. A pale hand whisked the red napkin away, revealing a small feast - a wedge of fragrant cheese, a heel of bread and... grapes... a generous pile of them. They created a seductive red mound, glistening like moist jewels in the sun. Just looking at them made him thirsty. Violet's brows raised when Cheslock shot him a disapproving look.

"You're... eating...? NOW? "

Violet gave him the sort of patient look that one might give a simple-minded child.

"Of course I am. I eat all the time. Sometimes every day."

Cheslock frowned. It was generally considered rude to be chomping away at something during a musical performance. Still, he stepped carefully.

"I just meant... while I am playing?"

Violet was well aware of the breech of etiquette. He lounged elegantly in a plum-upholostered chair.

"Sorry, old man - I missed lunch!" He sipped delicately from his glass and nibbled at the wedge of cheese.

"Surely, you don't want me to faint from hunger, do you?" He had a point there.

Cheslock shrugged and raised his bow. Fair enough. He figured that a fainting Violet plunging to the floor would be a far greater distraction than simply watching him eat.

He was dead wrong.


End file.
